


I don’t want to be no Cinderella

by ilikecheesemaybe



Category: Benjaminutes - Fandom, The Riftdale Chronicles (Web Series)
Genre: Bart is Cinderella, Canon Divergent, Cinderella AU, Gen, I have ceased to regret my sins, Light???? Angst????, M/M, This is a Cinderella AU, fluff?, gosh diddly darn do I need a nap, happy ending????, yes - Freeform, yes Chief is the fairy godmother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 18:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16164149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilikecheesemaybe/pseuds/ilikecheesemaybe
Summary: Bart is CinderellaSmith is the PrinceChief is the Fairy GodmotherWhat else do you people want from me.





	I don’t want to be no Cinderella

Bartholomew loved many things in his life. Art, approval, and his Dad. 

He loved art because of the many things he could make, the things he could put to paper, and the freedom it provides. 

He loved approval because it made him feel as if he had a purpose for what he did. That in this big scary void of space and life he made some kind of contribution to someone. That he wasn’t completely erasable.

He loved his Dad because he always supported him. Always. Even his other parents didn’t. He was there when he needed encouragement!

But. Then Dad had to go. He had to take care of his other kids. Bart understood. Or at least he said he did. 8 year olds rarely truly understand the importance of what their parents had to do.

So Bart was alone in his home of parents who wanted other things for their son. 

Their son who just. Couldn’t live up to their expectations.

Their son who dropped out of high school.

The stranger who they disowned.

Bart was alone. He was cold. He was somewhere. Where was he? Did it even matter anymore?

His socks were soaking and all he had were the clothes on his back and his brain in its place.

Walking onwards along a strangely safe street, he saw a strange man? Raccoon? Whatever, digging around in a garbage bin. There seemed to be red paint surrounding a pile of clothes on the ground.

He started to back away from the scene.

“Splorsh.” His foot stepped a little too harshly into a puddle, alerting the garbage digger of his presence.

“Who the FUCK are you?” The man asked in a slightly slurred tone, as if he weren’t quite sober in this moment. 

“I-i am B-barthole-“ The artist started to stutter out.

“Bart. I’m calling you Bart. Ok? Yeah ok.” The man pauses and murmurs to himself for a moment as if contemplating an idea. “I’m Christian and you are my hostage.”

Bart couldn’t comprehend it at first. ‘Someone who wants to keep me around for once?’ He mulls over the idea that someone would be willing to have his presence so much as to hold him hostage! They’re practically friends! 

Friends… Bart never had one of those before. Maybe this raccoon man isn’t as bad as his original assumption had been!

 

He was worse.

He yelled and made threats. He growled and intimidated. He took and he dragged Bart along as he did.

Not like Bart had never been yelled at before, but Christian was so much scarier. With his gun, his cocaine, his glares. He was terrifying.

 

Bart retreaded to a bar. A nondescript bar in the city of Riftdale.

He ordered a nice refreshing glass of milk as another man walks in. A police officer. They talk a little bit. Nothing big or life changing really. Just idle talk. Introductions and the like.

“So, what is someone like you doing in a place like this?” The question is finally asked. The dreaded question where in which he would have to say.

“I’m on vacation.” With someone who could kill me at any moment, would kill me at any moment.

His guilt must have been screaming from his face because the “slightly” drunk cop read right through him.

“I don’t believe you.” The cop says, “What’s the real story, kid.” His face was stoic as he took a large gulp of his whiskey.

“I-I’m. I-i am.” Bart racked his brain for an excuse. Any excuse. Anything he could use as a lie. He was desperate and it showed.

The cop’s eyes narrowed, “You aren’t committing any crimes right?” There was a slight edge, a slight growl, in his voice.

“I-no. I-at least I don’t think I am. I think. I-I’m not sure?” Bart rushes out in a stuttered panic. His racing heart pumping blood to his ears. Nonono he was going to get in trouble. Christian was going to murder him.

“What do you mean by ‘you don’t think you’re committing a crime’ are you or not, kid.” The policeman looks so exasperated that it kinda drags Bart back into reality. He was a human just like Bart. He would listen before sending Bart to the slammer.

“Well… you see uh. I’m with. A friend. Of mine. And uh-“ Bart starts before he his cut off.

“I’m assuming this “friend” of yours is trouble?” Chief narrows his eyes at the artist who’s desperately trying to sink into his chair.

“Yeah? I’m not 100% sure what he does, but we’re always on the run and. And he’s always, just angry? He dresses up as a priest, which should be comforting but it’s really not.” Bart rants and raves just a little, ok maybe a little bit more than he’s used to.

“Wait. Did you say he’s dressed up as a priest?”

**Author's Note:**

> UwU validate me please


End file.
